The sound of short-distance travel reverberate at each step. Sneakers slide and shuffle on the polished floor. New names are passed around, and the old, well, they sit at corners but never obscured. They watch, but the young observe them back as if in retaliation.
There is a vibration of tensed greetings right between their teeth; the jaws shake stronger than their cold hands.
“Hello, what is your name?” they would ask as if pleading. Names are sacred.
In which the others reply with awkward sincerity, half of the identity remains concealed. The others never show their soul freely. Understandable.
The soles evade the gaps between the tiles just as they evade the space between familiarity and contempt.
“And now that I own the world, I am erasing its names with ease
and excitement and enthusiasm, for naming is the same as cursing…”
[Sarah Matias, Etymology]